The Pirates and the Nightmaker (4 page)

‘Good, good,’ he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the others, most of whom were now sleeping or giving the appearance of sleep. ‘And what did you see from on high, little one? Did you see any means of getting off this wretched boat?’

Immediately I remembered the islands scattered like emeralds, although none was especially close, and I remembered the tall ships. One was not far away.

‘There is a ship …’ I said.

‘Not a Spanish ship, I trust?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. It may have been a privateer. It wasn’t large: a barque with three masts.’

‘And far away?’

I shook my head, pointing. ‘It would be just beyond the horizon in that direction.’

‘Well, you must discover exactly what it is, Loblolly Boy. You must fly to it at once.’

‘I will, sir,’ I said. ‘But what would I do then?’

‘You must decide whether it is safe,’ said Mr Wicker. ‘I see little point in being rescued by a Spanish man-of-war. That would more resemble capture than rescue. Nor would it be wise to put our trust in pirates.’

I nodded in agreement.

‘However,’ continued Mr Wicker, ‘if the ship is one of
King George’s own, or a decent English privateer, then it will be all we could wish for …’

I could understand this, but I was still unsure about how I could possibly be of assistance.

Sensing my confusion, Mr Wicker said, ‘You are troubled?’

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I know, for you have told me and I have seen for myself, that by some strange happenchance I am now completely invisible to human eyes and, worse, whatever I say is completely unheard by human ears …’

As if to underscore what I was saying, I raised my voice almost to a shout and yet not one of the others on the
jolly-boat
gave any indication that I had uttered a sound.

‘So?’ asked Mr Wicker.

‘So,’ I said. ‘If the barque is a ship of the king’s navy or an English privateer, how could I possibly tell them that there is a jolly-boat not far away with a company of Englishmen on board in need of rescue.’

Mr Wicker nodded slowly.

‘Because nobody will be able to see me and nobody will be able to listen to me,’ I completed.

Mr Wicker remained pensive for a few moments. At length, he looked at me and said, ‘First, little one, ascertain the nature of this barque and come back to me. We will cross future bridges when we come to them.’

I suppose there was little more that could be done in the meantime.

‘Go now,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘and hurry back. Some of this company are weakening as we speak and they need all the energy they have left to give them the strength to row.’

That was true enough.

At that, and without a backward glance, I leapt into the sky once more and was airborne immediately.

How easy it seemed.

How utterly natural.

I could not be certain, but it did seem as if the barque was even closer than it had been when I had first caught sight of it. It was visible, not many leagues away, as soon as I had risen a little more than main-mast height, and so without climbing a great deal higher I half-glided, half-soared in the manner of an albatross, towards it.

The vessel was not large, even smaller than the
Firefly
I estimated, and it soon became clear that I was not to deal with a Spanish warship, or an English navy ship for that matter. There were no distinguishing flags or pennants flying, which I thought unusual, although in these waters of the Spanish Main perhaps it was prudent not to advertise yourself too readily. This fact left only two possibilities: it could have been either a privateer or a pirate, although there was little way I would be able to tell the difference, especially from on high.

In one of his rare conversational moments, Dr Hatch had explained the difference between a pirate and a privateer to me. He’d given a short barking laugh. ‘No difference at
all and all the difference in the world,’ he told me, taking another drink to steady a shaking hand.

This was meant to confuse me, and he laughed at my puzzlement.

‘I do not follow,’ I’d said.

‘It’s like this,’ he explained. ‘They both prey on Spanish ships for the gold and silver they carry, but the privateer is licensed by King George to do so, while your pirate is licensed by the devil. The privateer is rewarded by the king for his efforts, while your pirate is hanged by the neck for his.’

I thought I understood. They were all pirates then, really. The only distinction between them was that some worked for the king, while others worked for themselves. This meant, I realised with a sudden traitorous start, that His Majesty, King George, was, in truth, the greatest pirate of them all. Now I had to discover whether this barque below me was ruled by King Pirate or whether it was ruled by a pirate king.

Like the jolly-boat, the vessel was becalmed. With no wind to belly the sails it sat quietly on its own reflection. As I approached, I looked for signs of life and was almost relieved to see the occasional sailor leaning on a rail or wandering idly on the upper deck. For a moment or two, so still and deserted was everything, I had feared I might be approaching a ghost ship. My drunken master had warned me of these and of how they lured unwary seamen to their doom, but whether he was speaking the truth or merely trying to terrify me I had no way of knowing.

The barque looked neatly turned out, so orderly in fact it might have been a navy vessel. Beneath the bowsprit it had an unusual figurehead and I swooped low then hovered like a dragonfly for a closer inspection. I was startled to see that it was a carving of Medusa the gorgon, the face painted a ghastly yellow and the hair a tangle of wreathed green serpents. All at once I was reminded of how Mr Wicker had petrified Jacob Stone and I shuddered with that awful memory and flew high into the air once more to escape the sight.

For the sheer whimsy of it and to satisfy my curiosity, I first alighted on the crow’s nest on top of the main mast. The narrow platform was surrounded by a rail and I looked over it and down onto the decks far, far below. How small they seemed. Of course, with my new ability to fly I had completely lost any dread of heights. Hitherto, though, I had looked with fear and apprehension at the way the sailors, like monkeys, could clamber up the ropes to the spars and then even higher to this very vantage point. Even the thought of it had frightened me, had made me dizzy.

My master, bored with tormenting me with the promise of the cat-of-nine-tails, had at times threatened to despatch me to the crow’s nest in the keening wind and tossing seas of the Atlantic crossing. Had he ever done so, it would have been my death, I know, for I scarce would have made half the height before the gale would have plucked me from the mast like a bedraggled doll and plunged me into the roaring ocean or onto the bucking deck.

Now, however, I leapt lightly from the nest into the very
air itself and stretching my wings like a gull glided down to the raised poop deck at the stern of the vessel.

At first I thought the deck deserted. All was silent excepting the sound of the sea gently slapping against the bulwarks, and the creak of the masts as the ship rolled slightly in the swell. I landed on the deck and folded my wings and it was only then, as I glanced about me, that I became aware of a slight figure standing, holding on to the mizzen-mast and staring in my direction with wonder. I stared back, astonished to find myself looking at a girl, no older than me. She had a calico cap, a white shirt and a red cotton skirt.

I glanced back over my shoulder to see what she could have been looking at and, to my surprise, there was nothing at all behind me except the vastness of the empty Caribbean Sea.

I quickly looked back at her.

She appeared to be clutching at the mast for safety.

She must have been looking at me and amazed by what she had seen.

There was no doubting, then, for finding her courage, she asked in an awestruck voice, ‘Are you an angel?’

‘You can see me?’ I asked in response.

The girl nodded.

‘I thought I was invisible …’

The girl swallowed and shook her head almost as if trying to shake me away, but unable to do so, forced herself to reply, ‘I can see you … What
are
you?’

It seemed a strange question. She might have asked
Who
are you
but if I’d told her who I was, it would no longer be true, for who I was once, I was no more. In truth, though, I could not answer her question
What are you
either, for I knew not what I was. I could fly, but I thought I was lost to the world of people.

It now seemed I was not lost to all people.

‘I’m a loblolly boy,’ I said.

‘A loblolly boy?’

I nodded.

Some of her confidence returned. ‘You don’t look like a loblolly boy.’

I had seen the green figure in the darkness of Mr Wicker’s eyes, I had seen the green figure I had become. The girl was right: I did not look like a loblolly boy.

‘What’s your name?’

‘I don’t have a name …’

That was right, too. The person I had been, the person who had a name and a mother and an Uncle Jack, was no more.

The girl, apparently becoming convinced that I posed no real threat to her, was gaining in confidence. Her look of wonder was growing into a look more of curiosity.

‘Well, Mr No Name Loblolly Boy,’ she said, ‘you must have come from somewhere.’

I remembered, then, my mission and Mr Wicker still in the jolly-boat with my master, Hatch, Captain Lightower and the others and the desperation on board. I needed to discover what this boat was and whether it offered a chance of rescue. Somehow, the presence of the girl was reassuring.
I had never known of a girl on a vessel such as this. In fact, I had never known of a girl on any vessel at all, unless it was on a wherry boat rowing across Portsmouth Harbour. Looking at her, it did not seem likely that she was of a company of cut-throats or pirates.

‘What is this vessel?’ I asked.

‘It is the
Medusa
,’ she replied.

Of course, I remembered the figurehead.

‘But …’ I said. I wanted to tell her I didn’t mean the name of the ship. I wanted to know whether it was a pirate ship or a privateer.

‘Why is it in these waters?’ I asked, trying a different tack.

The girl shrugged. ‘Why do you want to know?’

I looked at her. I knew she had fobbed off answering me, but all the same I was almost convinced that she could be trusted. In any event, I had little choice.

‘You asked where I came from,’ I began. ‘Not many leagues from here there is a jolly-boat floating idly with a number of men in dreadful straits. They are sore in need of rescue …’

While she listened with close attention and widening eyes, I told her of the midnight boarding, of how we were cast upon the ocean in a little boat and how the
Firefly
sailed away in the company of the marauder vessel.

‘What of the other men?’ she asked.

‘I know not,’ I said. ‘Perhaps they are prisoners still, or perhaps they were in league. It does seem a most insolent action to attack a ship of the king’s.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Ah, but these waters are filled with
insolent men who would tweak a king’s beard and risk a hanging.’

I told her then of how we had been left to drift through the long hot days and equally long sultry nights bereft of food and drink and of how the men were about to forgo all humanity and all decency, to descend to the depths of cannibals and beasts and brutes.

‘But …’ she said, staring at me, at my greenery, my wings.

‘I was not as I am now,’ I explained. ‘A strange man came to my rescue. Alone of all on board he seemed unafraid, almost carefree. He has unearthly powers. When one of the men approached with a dagger and with the clear purpose of butchering me, this man was able to turn him to stone, to cause him to topple overboard like a statue and sink beneath the waves.’

The girl’s eyes widened.

‘That was marvellous enough,’ I said, ‘but greater miracles were to follow. My saviour then fixed me with his eyes and in his eyes I saw that which you now see before you. Somehow, I know not how, he granted me invisibility and the power of flight. The other men could no longer perceive me; in fact they thought, like my attacker, that I had been despatched overboard and drowned. And then my saviour encouraged me to fly, to use my wings, and so I did. And it was beyond all dreams. I have flown as high as clouds. I have seen the ocean spread below me like a map. I have seen ships like children’s toys scattered on the water, ships no bigger than my hand.’

I held my hand up and she gazed at it and then at me with her eyes shining and bright with amazement.

‘So you are a newly coined angel,’ she whispered.

‘Newly coined, aye,’ I said, ‘but only a means to an end. I am no angel, miss. I trust when he is rescued my saviour will restore me to what I was. He has sent me hither to seek help, and once I have found it, surely my task is done.’

‘What would I do?’ asked the girl.

I stared at her. Hadn’t I just explained?

‘Could they not be rescued?’

‘They could, but how?’

I looked at her helplessly. It was obvious surely.

She must have sensed my feelings, for she said gently. ‘Listen to what you are asking me to do, Master Loblolly Boy. I am to report to the captain and say that an invisible boy with great green wings has just alighted on the poop deck and told me that several leagues away beyond the horizon there is a jolly-boat of men in dire need of rescue. I should further tell the captain to summon up a stiff breeze, when there is now none, so that the ship can set sail and turn a-starboard and pluck these gentlemen from the sea?’

I understood what she was saying.

‘I might add,’ she said, ‘that I must tell the captain, too, that these men are navy men and one is a captain in the king’s service …’

At these words, I realised I had miscalculated, that this was a vessel that would see danger in King George’s men and that could mean only one thing.

The girl smiled meaningfully and nodded.

‘You see?’ she asked.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘But …’

At that point a heavily built and full-bearded sailor appeared at the top of the companionway. Espying the girl, he pulled himself up onto the deck and approached her.

‘Excusing me, Miss Sophie, but the captain would see you in the wardroom presently.’

The girl looked up at him and nodded. ‘I will be there shortly,’ she said.

The sailor looked around the deck, sighing. Although I was clearly in his line of sight he gave no indication whatever that he had seen me.

‘Would there were some wind, Miss Sophie,’ he said, shielding his eyes against the late sun. ‘If only there was just the thought of a breeze or anything to fill the sails and get us moving again.’

‘I agree,’ said the girl. ‘I am weary to distraction of these doldrums. They leave me weak and listless.’

The sailor grunted his assent and turned once more towards the companionway. ‘I’ll report, then, that you’ll not be long?’

‘Please, Will,’ said the girl, although she did not follow him but stood as before leaning against the mizzen-mast.

She turned back to me. ‘He did not see you.’

‘I told you,’ I said. ‘Just like the men in the jolly-boat. So far, only you and Mr Wicker …’

‘Mr Wicker?’

‘The magician … The man who changed me …’

‘But I can see you,’ she said. ‘What means that?’

I shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I am just learning this new life.’

She looked thoughtful, and in doing so, screwed up her nose. It occurred to me that she was pretty, despite her pulled face. I had not much truck with girls. I had not any sisters, or brothers either.

‘You are well acquainted with the captain?’ I asked, remembering he’d asked to see her in his wardroom.

She laughed at the question. ‘Very,’ she said.

I stabbed a guess. ‘The captain is your father?’

She laughed again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘The captain is my
mother
!’

I looked at her in astonishment.

‘Let me tell you,’ she said, ‘that the captain of the
Medusa
is Jenny Blade.’

That meant little to me, and my blank look led her to explain. ‘Had you been, Loblolly Boy, longer acquainted with these waters you would have known the name of Jenny Blade, for she has much renown hereabouts.’

‘She has?’

Sophie grinned mischievously. ‘Although some might call it notoriety, even, or ill repute.’

I took her meaning and understood why bringing on board such a one as Captain Lightower might provoke difficulties.

‘What of these men on the little boat?’ I asked her.

I could not imagine her as being as heartless as Jacob Stone.

She pondered briefly, and then said, ‘There may be a way, but they will need to come closer.’